Of Death and Dying
by ronsgirl03
Summary: “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Weasley. It looks as if you’ve only got a few more months to live.” When Hermione gets a grim diagnosis, everyone will have to cope with the news and go through the five stages of grief.
1. Diagnosis

"What's that smell?"

The question was carried into Hermione's study and she looked up from the document she had been perusing. She suddenly became aware of a strong odor wafting in from the kitchen. With a gasp she dropped her quill and hurried toward the oven. The unmistakable smell of burning meat escaped along with a significant amount of smoke as she opened the door. Hermione sighed, removing the dish with mittened hands and placing in on the counter.

"Not a word," she shot over her shoulder to her husband. Ron had followed her to the kitchen and was now leaning against the doorpost, arms crossed and an amused look upon his face.

"I would never," he smirked. He took a few steps toward his wife and placed a kiss on her cheek. "Dinner smells wonderful."

"Ha ha. I know you want to laugh so just do already." She shook her head dejectedly. "I suppose this is how Hugo will remember my cooking for the next year. I reckon he'll really be looking forward to the Hogwarts' feast."

"Nonsense. You've been his mother for what, seventeen years now? You know he loves you regardless."

"Yes, well," said Hermione, "at least Rose is bringing over a casserole. She was so excited to cook something in her new flat. Let's just hope she takes after your mum when it comes to cooking rather than her own."

Hermione removed her wand from her pocket and swished it through the air. The ruined roast dumped itself into the rubbish bin and the pan made its way to the sink, immediately filling with suds. Hermione turned around and looked at her husband.

"Are you still wearing the clothes you went out flying in? Don't you think you should change before the children arrive? They should be here any minute."

"It only takes me three minutes to change," said Ron, glancing at his watch, "and they should be here in seven. That leaves me a full five minutes to..."

He did not finish his sentence, leaning instead toward his wife and pressing his lips over hers.

"Ron," she mumbled, pulling away, "I really have to finish editing that document I was working on-"

Her husband chose to ignore her, instead raising his hands to cup her face. "Work can wait," he whispered, his lips inches from hers. He waited a moment for Hermione to retort, but when she did not, he pulled her toward him, kissing her deeply.

"Mmm..." was all Hermione said, her report forsaken.

"Mum, Dad?" came a voice from the sitting room. "You here?" It was Rose.

"Yes, dear, we're in the kitchen," Hermione called out, still slightly out of breath. Her face was flushed as she quickly straightened herself out. Ron just grinned.

"Go change, Ron."

"Yes, love." He headed out of the room, pausing to plant a kiss on his daughter's cheek as she entered.

"Where do you want me to put the casserole?" she asked, slightly lifting the pan in her hands. Hermione motioned to the counter and Rose set it down.

"I hope it came out all right," said Rose. "I followed the recipe to the letter but it doesn't look exactly like the picture.

"It smells marvelous," said Hermione, hugging her daughter. "I'm sure you did a wonderful job. "So, how's the new flat?" she asked as they headed toward the dining room.

"It's lovely, Mum," gushed Rose, "you must come see it once it's all the way unpacked. I have the best view from my bedroom window, and it's so close to work." Rose had recently begun her job at the Ministry, working as assistant to the head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports.

"That's great, Rose," smiled Hermione. "And your new flatmate, Margie Macmillan? You two get along?"

"Yes, well, we were always friendly at school, and she is just so nice. I'm really happy, Mum."

"I'm glad," said Hermione. "It's nice to see you so happy."

They were walking across the room, heading for the sofa when a loud crack made them both jump.

"Honestly, Hugo," said Hermione as both mother and daughter clutched their chests in fright, "didn't I tell you to only apparate right beside the door, and not in the middle of the room like that? You nearly gave me a heart attack!"

"Sorry, Mum," said Hugo, a mere foot away from them. He grinned a lopsided grin and ran his hand through his thick, ginger hair. "Won't happen again. Hey, something smells good!"

"Hugo, my boy, just in time!"

Ron entered the room in fresh clothes and headed over to his son. He had obviously jumped in the shower, as well, because his hair was wet and sticking to his neck, and droplets of water were still dripping on his shirt. He looked so deliciously handsome that Hermione's heart fluttered. It was amazing that he still caused the same reactions in her after all these years.

Ron looked up momentarily from talking to Hugo when he felt her eyes on him. He grinned like a little boy and winked. Hermione laughed.

"Care to help me in the kitchen, Rose?" she gestured to her daughter, heading in that direction.

"Sure, Mum."

"If you would just grab the utensils then I'll grab the casserole." Hermione reached forward to grab the dish but this action caused a sharp pain in her head, and her hand instead flew to her temple as her eyes squeezed shut.

"Mum! Are you okay?"

Hermione slowly opened her eyes, but her vision was blurred. The image of her daughter's worried face gradually returned, and Hermione managed a weak smile.

"Just a headache dear, don't worry. It sometimes happens to me when I spend all day reading. And that stunt Hugo just pulled didn't help any. I'll be fine."

Rose gave her mother a look, not quite sure if she believed that Hermione was fine, but knowing well enough to drop the subject.

"It's shocking they made him Head Boy, isn't it?" she said with a grin as she helped carry things to the table. "He doesn't seem very responsible, does he?"

"You know your brother is quite brilliant, and he can be responsible when he wants to be. He just likes to have a little fun is all." Hermione smiled, thinking about just how much her son resembled Ron.

"Did I hear my name?" asked Hugo, already sitting at the table. "I'm hungry, let's eat! I need to build up my strength for my last ride on the Hogwarts Express tomorrow!"

Hermione and Rose simultaneously rolled their eyes, but Ron just grinned.

"Agreed," he said, "let's eat!"

***

"I just can't believe that our youngest child is going off for his last year at Hogwarts," said Hermione later as she and Ron were getting ready for bed. "Remember when we were at Hogwarts? Where did the time go?"

"Yeah, I remember our last year together at school. We didn't know it was going to be our last year together at the time." He pulled his shirt over his head and then looked at his wife. "Pretty rotten year if you ask me. I buggered the whole thing up, didn't I?"

Hermione looked up from removing her shoes to see the apologetic look in Ron's eyes. So many years and two children later, he still never fully forgave himself for the Lavender fiasco. Hermione didn't care at all. She had him now, didn't she? And it warmed her heart to see how much he still cared.

"Yeah, you really did," she agreed, taking a step closer to her husband. "When I look at Rose and Hugo, I can't believe that they're already up to that stage in their lives. They look so young and carefree. Not that our youth was ever really carefree," she shook her head, "but don't you miss those days a little?"

"No," said Ron so fervently that it made Hermione quirk her eyebrow at him.

"Really, you don't?"

"Nope. We're not old folks yet, Hermione." He laughed. "But honestly, I like this. I like now. I like being married to you. I don't miss worrying about what to say, and what to do. Back then I couldn't touch you, or hold you, or..."

He bent down and lightly brushed his lips against hers.

"Or do that," he whispered, his breath washing over her face. He was looking into her eyes with such love that Hermione found she could not breathe. Oh, how she loved this man!

So she reached both hands behind his head to lower it to her level and kiss him. Hard. She put everything into that kiss, wanting to show him how much she still loved him after all these years. Ron gladly acceded and slanted his mouth against hers, deepening the kiss. He backed her up until her knees were brushing the edge of the bed and she knew that he wanted what she did. She slid her hands under his shirt and ran them up the bare skin of his chest and he shuddered. She smiled against his mouth. His hands snaked up into her hair and gave a light tug, and then...

"Ouch," she mumbled, breaking away from the kiss. A sharp pain, similar to the one she had experienced earlier in the kitchen, had hit her head. Ron looked at her worriedly.

"Hermione, are you all right?" he asked nervously, pulling her to sit next to him on the bed.

"Yeah, I'm fine." She rubbed her temple. This headache was really getting annoying.

"Hermione, I don't think you're fine. Rose told me about what happened earlier." Hermione opened her mouth to retort but Ron cut her off. "She was just worried about you, and so am I. Will you please see a healer?"

"Really, Ron, I don't have any time. I have a meeting tomorrow with Tom McKinley and I need to finish up my presentation on -" She stopped short at the look on Ron's face.

"Hermione."

"Okay," she sighed, "fine. I'll go in to Saint Mungo's tomorrow, right after we drop Hugo off at King's Cross."

"Good. Now go to sleep, you need to get some rest."

"But-"

"No buts, Hermione, good night." Ron climbed under the covers and turned out the light with a swish of his wand. Hermione sighed and followed suit.

"Good night, Ron," she whispered, reaching to take his hand under the covers. He squeezed it back.

***

"So what did he _say_?" Ron asked for the third time, pacing back and forth in the waiting room. Hermione sighed from her chair and looked up from the issue of _Witch Weekly_ she had been reading.

"I _told _you, Ron, he didn't really say anything. He just asked me a few questions, took some tests, and told me we'd find out the results soon." She paused. "Will you stop pacing, already, you're making me nervous!"

Ron flopped into the chair beside her. He looked at her so fearfully that she felt her heart melt.

"I just, if anything is wrong with you, Hermione, I can't...I don't know what I'd do."

"Shh..." said Hermione, putting her hand on top of his, "it's just a headache. I'm sure it's nothing. Like you said, we're not old yet, Ron."

Ron just looked at her. "_Hermione_..."

"Mrs. Weasley?"

Healer Pye stood in front of them, an envelope in his hands. They both looked up.

"Your test results are back, and they are, well...um..."

"Augustus," Hermione whispered. "We know you. You know us. Just give us the results." Ron squeezed her hand.

Augustus Pye shook his head. "I'm so sorry, Mrs. Weasley. It looks as if you've only got a few more months to live."


	2. Denial

"What, I...what?"

Hermione had been expecting the healer to tell her not to worry, and maybe send her home with a small pain relief potion. She had never been expecting this.

"_I'm so sorry, Mrs. Weasley. It looks as if you've only got a few more months to live."_

What does he mean by that? I'm perfectly healthy, can't you see? She voiced as much.

Augustus Pye sighed. He knew the Weasleys personally. He had delivered their children. This was hard for him to do.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Weasley, but you really are not. We ran some extensive tests and there seems to be a large mass on your brain. Now, normally we-"

"Her _brain_?" Ron laughed. "Okay, Augustus, now I_ know _you're wrong. There is absolutely _nothing_ wrong with my wife's brain!"

"I know it may not seem like it, Mr. Weasley, but there is something very wrong with your wife's brain. She has a large mass on the part of her brain that controls her involuntary functions. There is absolutely no way to remove it. I'm very sorry."

Ron jumped up from his seat. "You're wrong! There can't being anything the matter with her, I would have noticed!"

"Mr. Weasley..."

"I'm her husband, dammit, I would have noticed!"

"Mr. Weasley..."

"You know what, you're a bloody quack! You don't know what the hell you're talking about!"

"Ron!"

Hermione had risen from her seat, her face white and her hands shaking.

"I think we should go home and talk about this."

Ron glowered at her for a moment and then turned and headed for the door. Hermione made to follow him.

"I really am sorry, Hermione," said Augustus softly. "I wish there was something I could do."

"I know," whispered Hermione. "And Ron does, too."

***

"Bloody healer...wrong with your brain...few months to live...large bloody mass...what the hell does he know?"

Ron was angrily pacing back and forth across the living room floor, as he had been for the past hour. Hermione was sitting on the sofa, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. She did not move at all.

Suddenly there was a knock at the door. Ron stopped his furious ranting; Hermione looked up but didn't move. Ron sighed and went to open the door. It was Harry.

He stood in the doorway, looking straight past Ron to where Hermione was sitting. Their eyes locked for a few moments before Hermione meekly said, "Hi, Harry."

Harry took three large strides and he was at the sofa, sitting by her side.

"I got your owl."

Hermione just nodded.

"God, Hermione, I don't know what to say. Are they sure?"

Ron opened his mouth to start raving again but Hermione answered first.

"The healer sounded pretty convinced. He didn't give many details but he said it was certain. He said I'm going to die, Harry."

Harry didn't say anything. He simply wrapped his arms around Hermione and she rested her head on his shoulder. They sat like that for several moments, neither of them saying a word.

"He said I'm going to die," Hermione finally said. "He said I'm going to die, but what do they really know? What does anyone really know? Didn't they say you were going to die, Harry? Didn't Trelawny and everybody say that every year, Harry, that you were going to die? But you didn't die! You survived the killing curse - twice! - even though nobody's done that before! How do we know that I'm actually going to die?"

Harry just stared at her, an unreadable expression on his face. "I reckon we don't," he finally said. "I reckon we never really know for sure."

Hermione quickly rose from the sofa and then turned to face her husband and her best friend. "I am not going to die," she said, "I am not." She started to leave.

"Where - where are you going?" asked Ron incredulously.

"To work," said Hermione. "It's already three o'clock in the afternoon and I still have a meeting with McKinley." She picked up her satchel from beside the door and left.

Harry and Ron stared at one another for a moment before Ron let out a shaky laugh. "You see that, Harry? You see? She's not gonna die."

***

"Mum, I told you, _I'm fine_."

"I don't think so, Dear," mumbled the elderly Dr. Meredith Granger. "Really, your father and I would be much happier if you would go see a doctor to find out for sure."

Hermione sighed. It was a week since she received her grim diagnosis, and it had been the longest and most grueling week of her entire life. Word spread like fiendfyre that Hermione was sick, and everyone had his or her own piece of advice. Fleur had immediately cooked up a batch of her "grandmuzzer's secret remedy", guaranteed to cure any illness. One sip of the foul potion made Hermione feel actually sick. Her boss kept insisting she take a leave of absence from work, but Hermione knew the boredom would kill her before any brain tumor. Her parents, though both frail and well-on in years, had made a special trip to her home to persuade her to get a second opinion from a Muggle doctor.

"Honestly, Mum, I feel perfectly healthy. How can a person be fatally ill if they don't even feel sick?"

Though family and friends were already streaming through the door to offer condolences, Ron and Hermione had been continuously batting away all attempts. Really, they insisted, she was _fine_.

Now Hermione was prepared to battle it out with her mum and dad. She didn't need her seventy year old parents fussing over her like she was going to die. She was about to declare (in the tone of finality that always worked with her children) that she was not going to see a doctor when she saw tears begin to pool in her mother's eyes. Oh, Merlin.

"It's just," sniffed Dr. Granger, "I know that you're a witch, Darling, and you put all your faith in these magical tests they run. But you have to understand that your father and I are very worried about you. You're our only child and we want to make sure that you're all right. And we trust the doctors, Dear."

Hermione groaned internally. How could she deny her elderly parents their wish?

"All right," she acceded, "I'll go. But really, I feel _fine_."

***

_There cannot be a bleaker place in the world_, thought Hermione as she sat in the waiting room of the Muggle hospital.

Saint Mungo's was a place full of life and color. Healers in lime-green robes bustle past to cure people of hiccuping bubbles or giggling uncontrollably. There were cheerful moving pictures on the walls of the waiting room and issues of _Witch Weekly_ to inform you where the Weird Cousins would be playing that weekend. There were familiar faces every way you turned, making the entire experience all the more pleasant.

The same could not be said for Saint Thomas' Hospital. The waiting room was sterile, white, and deathly silent. Every so often the door would open and a doctor in light blue scrubs would enter, bringing along with him the faint sound of beeping from outside. There was only one other woman in the room at the moment, weeping in the corner. Hermione shuddered.

Ron had refused to accompany her this time, having very little faith in anything Muggle and not really believing that his wife was sick. Hermione was instead escorted by both of her parents, though she had not wanted them to bother. They had, however, insisted, so she was now seated between her mum and dad, awaiting her second diagnosis in a week.

After they had been waiting for what seemed to Hermione like hours, the door opened and she looked up. A doctor, who looked to be no older than Rose, cleared his throat.

"Mrs. Weasley?"

"That's me," said Hermione, attempting to sound nonchalant. She tried to read the doctor's face, but his expression was indecipherable. Her parents were holding her hands.

"We've gotten your lab results back," said the doctor in an apathetic voice as he opened a file. "Now, we've run some extensive tests, and the MRI shows that you have a large brain tumor on your medulla oblongata. This tumor is locally advanced and seems to already have metastasized to your cerebellum. Due to the location and advanced state of your tumor, surgery is not an option. Heavy radiation is possible, but not recommended in your case, because the probability of success is very low and the side effects can be brutal."

"Wait, wait." Hermione shook her head, not able to process all that information. "What exactly are you saying?"

The doctor looked up from his notes. "Mrs. Weasley, the chance of survival in your case is slim to none. I don't really see a feasible option of treatment. The fact that you seem to still be functioning normally is nothing short of miraculous. I cannot think of anything to tell you except to make yourself comfortable and wait."

At this point the doctor paused, and his expression softened for the first time. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Weasley," he said and then left the room.

At this point both doctors Granger were sobbing, but Hermione sat perfectly still.

***

"I'm going to kill that man!"

Ron's face was bright red and his fists were clenched. He looked ready to punch the next thing that moved. Hermione hurriedly put her arm on his shoulder and looked him in the eye.

"There's no need to kill anyone, Ron," she said calmly. "I asked the doctor for his professional opinion and he gave it to me. True, his bedside manner was terribly wanting, but he was simply reading me the results of the tests."

Ron still looked murderous, but he released his fists and lowered his arms.

"But he - he confirmed what the Healer said, then?"

"Well, with different words, but essentially he did," said Hermione as she busied herself with making a cup of tea. "Would you like something to drink?" she asked Ron.

He stared at her incredulously. "Hermione, you don't care?"

Hermione turned around and placed her mug on the table. "Well, naturally I would care if I was dying," she said matter-of-factly. "But after that doctor spewed a load of rubbish at me, I went to the Muggle library and read through some medical journals. If I had what he said I do, I wouldn't be breathing properly, I would be vomiting, and I might be having heart failure. The very fact that I am walking and talking and feeling fine disproves the results. He called it a miracle, but I believe they were simply wrong."

She picked up her mug and took a sip of her tea.

***

"Hermione?"

She looked up from her desk. "Yes, Tom?"

"Erm, just letting you know that I'm going home for the night. You're the last one here."

"Thank you, Tom. I should be leaving soon myself. I just have to finish proofing this document."

Tom McKinley shrugged and walked out of the room. It wasn't the first time Hermione stayed at work late to finish up a project, and he didn't think it would be the last. His wife would kill him if he didn't come home for dinner, but apparently Ron Weasley was more understanding.

Hermione bent low over the parchment, brushing her hair behind her ears. It was getting rather late and she had promised Ron she would make it home for dinner, but she had never left work unfinished, and she was not about to start now. She noticed an error in the document and reached for a quill to fix it, when she was suddenly assaulted by a throbbing pain in the back of her head. Her vision swam as she tried to keep her eyes open, but she could feel her consciousness slipping away and her head start to fall...

***

"McKinley!"

Ron stuck his head into the green flames and yelled out the name. Tom McKinley jumped as a ginger-haired, freckled face appeared suddenly in his fireplace.

"Something you need, Ron?"

"Where the hell is Hermione? She was supposed to be home hours ago! Did you see her leave the office?"

McKinley shook his head. "Nope. When I left she was still finishing up something."

"She told me she was coming home for dinner," said Ron. "She promised me she would make it this time."

"She did say she was planning on leaving shortly after I did. I assumed she would have been home long ago."

"Bloody hell," groaned Ron as he ducked out of the fireplace.

***

Ron raced down the darkened hallway of the Ministry, heading for Hermione's office. It looked like the light was still on, but it was eerily silent. He sped up and burst through the door.

"Hermione!"

Quill still in her hand, she lay slumped over her desk, perfectly still.


	3. Anger

Hermione was dying.

She hadn't believed it, not from the mouth of the Healer, nor from the words of the doctor. She had done her research. She felt too healthy to be as ill as they had described. She had been determined to move on with her life as if nothing had happened, and Ron was right beside her, in perfect denial.

And then it hit her. One day she woke up feeling perfectly fine, but several hours later she was unconscious in her office. Every day since then she woke up with a headache, and sometimes she was overcome with such waves of nausea that she would sit on the cold, tiled floor of the loo for hours, her head hanging over the toilet. It was as if the beast that was her illness was suddenly awakened, and its sudden ferocity terrified Hermione. Her boss had insisted that she leave her job until and unless by some miracle she had recovered. That left a miserable Hermione sitting at home all day, alone.

It just wasn't fair. It wasn't fair at all.

***

"Hermione? Are you home?"

"Of course I'm home, Gin, where else would I be? I haven't left this house in days, and quite frankly I am losing my mind."

Ginny Potter sighed as she took a seat on the sofa next to her sister-in-law.

"I brought you some soup." She placed a covered bowl on the coffee table.

"Thanks," said Hermione without a smile.

"Anything I can do?" asked Ginny, slipping off her shoes and pulling her feet beneath her. She had been coming to visit Hermione every afternoon, and every afternoon she asked the same question. She wanted to help, really, but Hermione was in a persistent bad mood. Well, Ginny couldn't really blame her.

"Not really, Ginny, but thanks." This time she smiled meekly. "I mean it. Thank you. You're the only person who still talks to me."

"What are you talking about?" questioned Ginny. "Rose, and Harry, and Ron - they don't talk to you?"

"Not like they used to," sighed Hermione, putting her feet up on the table. "Sure, people drop by to see me, but everyone whispers when they talk to me, like I'm already on my death bed." She saw Ginny flinch at her choice of words, but she continued. "They won't talk to me like they did before, just as a friend. It's like they're afraid somehow."

Ginny paused and contemplated for a moment before speaking. "I suppose they don't really know what to do. I don't want to minimize your situation, Hermione, but it's hard for them, too. They don't know what to say."

"I know," said Hermione, "I'm not really angry with them. It's the whole situation I'm frustrated with. I am forty six years old and already I'm dying. It's not really fair, is it?"

"No," agreed Ginny with a shake of her head, "it's not."

"Well," Hermione sat up straighter, "enough about this topic. I feel like it's all I ever talk about anymore. Let's talk about something different. What's going on with you, Ginny?"

"Not much. James and Al are off living their own lives and Lily is back at school. I feel like such an empty-nester at times. I can't imagine how Mum felt when she went from seven children at home to none."

"How are the wedding plans going?"

Ginny bit her lip, as though she hadn't wanted to mention the wedding, but since Hermione asked, she obliged her.

"They have a date set, but it's rather far off. They want to wait until James finishes his Auror training and Abigail starts her job at Saint Mungo's."

"Oh," Hermione sighed. "I really hope I can go..." She trailed off, the unspeakable left unspoken.

Ginny didn't say anything, but she felt salty tears sting her eyes and she blinked them away. This was not what Hermione needed right now.

"Why me?" whispered Hermione, as tears began to gather in her own eyes. "What did I ever do to deserve this?"

"Nothing," sniffed Ginny. "You didn't do anything to deserve this." There was no way she was going to be able to hold her tears back now.

"It's not fair!" exclaimed Hermione.

"You're right," cried Ginny, and she pulled Hermione into a hug. The two sat together for several moments, sobbing. So much for a change in topic.

"Thanks," said Hermione when she finally pulled back.

"Anytime," Ginny said, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.

There was a faint _pop_ and suddenly Ron was there.

"Oh, hey, Gin," he said when he noticed his sister.

"Hi, Ron," said Ginny, rising from the sofa. "I think I'm going to go now," she told Hermione. "You just let me know if you need me, yeah?"

"I will," smiled Hermione. "Thanks again, Gin. And thanks for the soup."

"No problem." Ginny turned to leave the room, and Ron began to leave as well.

"Wait, Ron, how was your day?" asked Hermione, motioning for him to come back and join her.

"I'm very tired," said Ron, rubbing his eyes. "I don't really feel like talking right now."

"Oh, come on," entreated Hermione, "talk to me. Let me live vicariously. I haven't left the house in ages and I'm bored stiff. Tell me about your day."

"Really, Hermione, not right now. I'm not in the mood." He walked away.

Ginny stared after him with an appalled look on her face and then turned to Hermione.

"What is with my prat of a brother?"

Hermione sighed. "I have no idea. He's been like this since he found me passed out at work. He barely says two words to me."

***

"Harry! What a nice surprise. What are you doing here?"

Harry grinned and pulled off his cloak as he stepped through the door. "Ginny told me you were bored so I figured I'd come keep you company."

"You don't have to work today?" asked Hermione as she took Harry's cloak from him and hung it up in the closet.

"I know you might not agree with me, Hermione, but some things are more important than work." Harry had a smile on his face, but his eyes were earnest.

"Thanks, Harry. That means a lot. Want to sit down?"

"Sure, but first I'm going to go grab a drink." He headed toward the kitchen. "Want something?"

"No, thanks, but help yourself!" she called after him.

Moments later he returned with a butterbeer in his hand. They sat across from each other at the table. Hermione put her feet up on the chair beside Harry's.

"So, what's going on?" Hermione asked.

Harry took a swig of his drink and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Not very much, to tell you the truth," he said. "The entire Ministry's been very quiet lately."

"Oh, yeah?" asked Hermione. "How come?"

"Dunno," shrugged Harry. "Ran into McKinley today. He asked how you were doing."

"What did you tell him?"

"I told him what you told me. Your situation. It's not exactly heartening, is it?" He glanced at Hermione over the top of his bottle and saw that she was frowning. "What? What should I have said?"

"Not that I'm about to drop any minute. The last thing I need is another person coming around to pity me."

"Sorry, Hermione," Harry apologized quickly. "I didn't know you were so touchy about it."

"Touchy? You think I'm touchy? Well, you would be, too, if you were about to die."

"I thought you said-"

"Never mind what I said, Potter," interrupted Hermione. "I'm just sick and tired of people treating me different. Or tiptoeing around me. Or acting like I can't do a bloody thing for myself!" She rose from her seat.

"Easy, Hermione," Harry also rose and stretched his arm out toward her.

"I am not incapacitated!"

"What? Yeah, I know, Hermione..."

"No, you don't know!" shouted Hermione. "Nobody seems to know! I'm dying, Harry! I'm dying, but I'm not dead yet. I need people to treat me like I'm still a person. I'm still me."

"Look, I'm really sorry, Hermione. Really, I am. I never meant to treat you badly."

Hermione's expression softened. "I know you didn't, Harry. No one does. It's just so unfair! I survived a bloody war and now I'm dying of some damned disease!"

Harry quickly made his way around the table and pulled Hermione into a tight hug.

"I'm so sorry, Hermione," he whispered into her hair. "I'm so, so sorry."

Hermione tensed against him and kept her arms at her sides. "It's not fair," she mumbled into his chest. "It's not bloody fair."

Harry reached up and stroked her hair, and Hermione felt herself sink into his embrace. It wasn't Harry's fault, it wasn't anyone's fault. It just wasn't fair.

***

Later that night, Hermione found herself curled up on the sofa reading a novel. Ron was sitting in an arm chair across the room, polishing his broomstick. They had been sitting like that in the same room for over an hour, and a single word had not been exchanged between them. Hermione sighed and looked back down at her book.

_Down went Jo's face into the wet handkerchief, and she cried despairingly; for she had kept up bravely till now, and never shed a tear. Laurie drew his hand across his eyes, but could not speak till he had subdued the choky feeling in his throat, and steadied his lips. It might be unmanly, but he couldn't help it, and I am glad of it. Presently, as Jo's sobs quieted, he said, hopefully, "I don't think she will die; she's so good, and we all love her so much, I don't believe God will take her away yet."_

_"The good and dear people always do die," groaned Jo, but she stopped crying, for her friend's words cheered her up, in spite of her own doubts and fears._

Hermione felt tears well up in her eyes. _Little Women_ was an old favorite of hers, but perhaps now was not the best time to be reading it.

She felt a small sob rise up in her throat, but she stifled it. How could she be dying? She wasn't done with life yet! But the hardest part was that she felt like she was going through it alone. She glanced up at Ron, who was still absorbed in his broomstick. Hermione whimpered.

_At least Jo had someone to comfort her_, thought Hermione. She pictured Ron wrapping his strong arms around her and holding her tight. This thought, rather than comforting her, made her begin to cry in earnest.

At the sound of her soft sobs, Ron looked up. Hermione, her face buried in her hands, did not notice. She continued to cry until she felt a large hand on her shoulder. She looked up straight into Ron's blue eyes.

"You should go to bed, Hermione," he said softly.

She nodded and stood up, leaving her book on the sofa. Ron began to pull her toward the bedroom but Hermione didn't move. He looked back at her inquisitively and she took a step closer to him.

"Hermione..." he breathed, his face inches from hers.

She closed her eyes, imagining Ron's lips on hers. She leaned in closer, but instead of Ron's lips, she felt his fingers touch her mouth.

"You really should go to bed."

That was it. His face was set and she could tell he meant it. Hermione nodded meekly and shrugged her arm out of his grasp. Fine. She would just go to bed.

As she crawled under the covers, Hermione realized she had never felt lonelier in her entire life.

***

Hermione woke up and looked at the clock on her bedside table. It was three in the morning, and Ron's side of the bed was still untouched. She quickly got out of bed and pulled her dressing gown around her.

She found him hunched over the kitchen table, an empty butterbeer bottle in his hand. There was an unfamiliar look on his face as he stared fiercely at the table.

Hermione walked behind his chair and put her arms around his shoulders. She placed a quick peck on his cheek and then moved her mouth to his ear, where she whispered, "Come to bed, Ron."

Ron looked up at her, though his eyes appeared glassed over and his face still sported the same unrecognizable expression.

"I don't think so, Hermione," he sighed, getting up from his seat and tossing his empty bottle in the bin.

"But, Ron..." urged Hermione.

"_Not_ _tonight_, Hermione," said Ron emphatically. He headed out of the room, Hermione following after him.

"Ron!"

"What?" Ron's head snapped back to look at her and the look in his eyes seemed so cold, so unfeeling that she shuddered.

"I haven't died yet, Ron," Hermione whispered, taking a step closer to him.

"I know that, Hermione," said Ron quietly, turning again to leave the room.

"I'm still here, Ron, I'm still here!" Hermione's voice raised as she said this, emotion bubbling up in her throat. "I may not have long to live but I'm still living. All I want to do is be with my husband. But he won't touch me, or kiss me, or even look at me anymore!"

Ron was staring hard at Hermione, his chest heaving.

"You won't talk to me, Ron! You want to bury me in the ground before I'm even dead. I need you, Ron, but you act as if you don't even care that I'm dying!"

Suddenly Ron was inches from her, a thunderous look in his eyes. Hermione had never seen such a murderous expression in his bright blue eyes, and for the first time she found herself afraid of him. She thought he was going to yell, but when he spoke, it was in a deathly whisper.

"How can you say that, Hermione? How can you say I don't care that you're dying? I care so much it feels like _I'm_ dying, a slow, painful death. The day you die, I die, too."

And then it was gone. That ferocious look in his eyes had turned to one of immense pain, and Hermione wanted nothing more than to remove it.

"But - I'm still here, Ron," she repeated. It was all she could think of to say under his intense gaze. "I need you and you need me, so why can't we just be together? Why are you ignoring me?"

"I have always tried to take care of you, Hermione," said Ron in a strong voice. "_Always_. I would give my life for you. But here you are, dying, and I'm helpless to stop it. I can't do anything for you." At this point Ron's voice broke, and water began to pool in his eyes. Hermione felt salty tears roll down her cheeks.

"They said you were going to die," he choked, "and I didn't believe it. But then you passed out at work, and I didn't know where you were, and I thought _I_ was going to die. You could have been anywhere, Hermione! And I couldn't help you. You're sick, and you're dying, and I don't want to make it worse."

"I'm not going to break if you touch me, Ron," wept Hermione.

"But maybe you will!" Ron shouted. "I don't know! All I know is that you're dying, and if I touch you, if I _look_ at you, I'm reminded of that fact, and I can't breathe. Maybe if I don't touch you, if no one touches you, if you just stay in bed then you won't die."

He looked fiercely at Hermione, even as tears were pouring down his face.

"I can't live without you. I won't survive. I can't breathe without you. I can't think without you. I love you too much. I _won't_ live without you!"

Here Ron completely broke down, sobbing madly. Hermione gathered him into her arms, and the two of them wept together. They wept for their future, for the dreams that could never come true. They would never grow old together. So they wept.

They stood that way for several minutes, until Hermione felt Ron's body stop shaking in her arms, though she could still hear him whimpering softly. She pulled back to look at him. His face was tearstained and his eyes were red. Hermione knew she looked the same.

Hermione lifted her small hands and put them on either side of his face, staring deeply into his eyes.

"I'm still here," she said, softly and intensely at the same time. "I know you don't want to live without me, but I don't want to live without you. When you ignore me, I feel like I'm already dead. I'm still living, Ron, and I want to live with _you_."

She reached her hands up into his hair and pulled his mouth down to hers. They had been together for 27 years, but never had she kissed him as she was kissing him now. She tried to put all of her emotions, every single unspoken word into that kiss. She wanted to pour her soul into his mouth so that she would continue to live through him, with him. Ron kissed her back, fiercely, passionately. He kissed her as if he was the one dying, and she was the oxygen he needed to survive. They were both crying again, and their tears mixed together on their faces.

Hermione felt weak with emotion and her knees started to buckle beneath her. Normally Ron would have lifted her up, but he too seemed to be overcome with emotion, and the two of them fell to the floor, never breaking their kiss.

They laid there for what seemed like hours, kissing and loving each other. Hermione kept whispering "I love you, I love you," while Ron said nothing at all. They just needed to hold each other, for how ever much longer they had.

Hermione wanted to show Ron how much she loved him, how much she needed him, and that she would always be there with him. Always.


End file.
